


Not A Glass Slipper (Part One: ab initio)

by rosetintednerdglasses



Series: Not A Glass Slipper [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F Bombs, F/M, Future Fic, Lots of Twitter, Male-Female Friendship, Mildly Explicit Language, Romance, larry friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetintednerdglasses/pseuds/rosetintednerdglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's a grown woman with an addiction to caffeine, and a maddeningly fun job. She doesn't really NEED a charming pop star to sail into her life, but... well, she's not complaining. </p><p>Part One: ab initio (from the beginning)</p><p>Future fic. A story told in three parts. Harry/OC. [Come on, give it a go!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Introductions and Sneaky Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> The thing is, a woman isn't going to fall to pieces when the Man She's In Love With is travelling and is away from her. She is isn't around to just bake, and more often than not, has friends, a career, and hang ups of her own that span wider than 'paparazzi' and period cramps.
> 
> Read on if you feel like trying out this Harry Styles/OC fic. I've attempted to make this girl as real as possible. Constructive criticism appreciated. :)
> 
> PS. Frequent updates promised.

 “I am so tired,” she moans, collapsing in a chair, hand cradled around the warm coffee cup she’s just picked up. She’s sure her hair is sticking up weirdly because of the way she’s slowly sliding lower in her chair, but she feels to weary to try and change positions.

The girl looks grumpily around at her unfamiliar surroundings, appreciating how the comfy chair soothes that one weird crick she’d developed yesterday after taking a nap on the floor of her office.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Her friend, Katherine, drops down in a chair opposite, sniffing her own coffee.

“What is? This coffee shop, or me being tired?”

The two women smirk at each other, settling into the warm rhythms of old friendship, buoyed by the joy of meeting after a month of being apart.

“How have you been, really?” Katherine finally asks, after a few quiet sips.

The grouch rolls her eyes and fiddles with the rim of her warm cup. “I didn’t expect scripting for a show to be this… you know, insane. I’ll spend hours at work, just because one of us doesn’t ‘feel’ like something is ‘in character’.”

She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment, only to open them to look at a concerned brown pair. “If it’s so bad…” her best friend begins uncertainly, face doubtful.

Waving her hand, the writer struggles out of her slumped position to look a little less… dead. “It’s not. I’m still just getting used to it. It’s only been a month since this new season of The Day Planner, I’ll adjust to the hours. Ever since we moved to a prime time slot, we’ve had to deal with some time crunch problems. The rest of it is still a lot of fun.”

She smiles easily, and the two begin talking about Kat’s job and boyfriend, then other things, while time slips by far too fast.

“I hate trains,” she mutters when the two get up to leave. “They’re always taking you away from me,” she adds sulkily before being shoved not-very-gently by her companion.

“Shut up. You need to get home too, don’t you have to tweet about how you’re excited about that fancy award show thing?”

She grins shamelessly at Katherine, eyes glinting in the light of the street lamp over them, as the two walk out of the coffee shop, and nods. “People’s Choice Award,” she says in a fake-snooty voice. “I’m going with a date-”

“-you mean your _very_ gay cast member-”

“-yeah, but listen but it doesn't need to be romantic-”

“-isn't he engaged?”

“We’re friends and he promised to buy me ice cream once we get done. It’s a date.”

Katherine shakes her head and points down the road. “Walk me till the end of the road?” She pleads, eyes sparkling.

She obliges, and they saunter down the sidewalk slowly. “You know,” Katherine begins slyly, “that award show will be stuffed with good-looking celebrities…” she trails off, waggling her eyebrows inappropriately.

With a shake of her black mane, her friend sniggers and shakes her head. “I live in LA. Celebrity-spotting is getting a bit old.”

Katherine shakes her head in mock-disappointment, and the two begin walking away in different directions. “You know what I meant, you idiot.”

“I know,” she begins to say, turning to see Katherine’s retreating back, “but I’m not going to do anything other than stare and appreciate the beauty.”

She has her priorities straight, after all.


	2. Always Invest In a Good Pair of Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, meetings are cliched. 
> 
> Most of the times, the cliches are cute.

It’s her first award show, so she’s incredibly afraid of doing something ridiculous or embarrassing or – _fuck, why am I going again?_

“Hey, maybe we can… I don’t know… get out of the car?” She shakes herself out of her reverie, tearing her eyes away from the crowd outside the _(safe, very safe)_ car to look at her friend, his handsome face crinkled in an understanding smile.

 _Oh, that’s why,_ she tells herself, as they both climb out of the car. She hangs back as paparazzi take a flurry of photos and her friend answers questions about the show, about his character, about the particularly gritty murder his character’s girlfriend is involved in, their chances of winning…

Daniel finally removes himself from the throng and propels her forward gently. “You should be the one answering those questions,” he mutters.

She rolls her eyes. “Nobody wants to hear those words from one of the _many_ writers, idiot.” Leaning forward, she takes the liberty of pinching his cheek playfully (she can hear fans nearby scream indignantly, and she enjoys how she can do this). “The words sound better coming from your pretty mouth.”

 He responds by shaking his head at her and gesturing forward, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Quit making the teenagers jealous,” he says as they manoeuvre through the crowd, and she sniggers. “Please. They need to get used to this anyway; you’re announcing your engagement to Tim in another week, they-”

She’s cut off by a talk show host wearing a scandalously low-cut dress. Immediately, she steps aside – Ms.Low-Cut is very, _very_ mainstream, and all the publicity is good for the show. She looks behind at Dan, who gestures his head forward. Nodding, she turns to make her way into the venue, thanking her stars that she’d rehearsed this.

Oh, _sure_ , the others had made fun of her for being a nervous wreck, but at least she now knows how to get around without Daniel. She takes the opportunity to congratulate herself for expecting this and practicing different outcomes of the same scenario so she wouldn’t be caught unawares.

She skates behind people and gracefully skims up a short bunch of stairs, passing by numerous nice-smelling humans in different shiny clothes and blazers.

Somehow, she can’t stop herself from smiling inwardly at being such a _pro_ – “Oof!”

She bangs right into somebody who comes tearing out of the door she was headed towards, and teeters on her heels for a moment before falling backwards. There is a loud _snap_ from somewhere under her heels as the traitorous black pumps she's wearing give way. Just as suddenly as the fall begins, it stops. She opens tightly screwed eyes to look into a handsome face, green eyes wide and concerned. Suddenly, she’s aware of strong hands gripping her arms, and her odd, half-bent position. She quickly grabs her helper’s lapels to steady herself.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he says fervently, hands loosening a little on her arms.

She shakes her head and smiles, insides strangely calm, despite the very amazing male specimen standing in front of her. “I’m fine, really. Sorry about, you know,” she reluctantly lets go of his lapels and smooths them down before dropping her hands, “grabbing you like that.”

He flashes wide grin at her. “It’s alright. Better a pretty girl than a bodyguard, and I get a lot of that in my life.”

She sniggers _(fuck, why is she sniggering?)_. “That sounds fun,” she says, valiantly trying to act like she gets called pretty by world-famous pop stars all the time. She’s sure she happens to be failing spectacularly at it (his voice and warm accent are an unsettling combination), so she looks down and – _ah, no._

“Shit,” she curses softly.

“What’s wrong?”

Swiftly, she leans down (and registers dimly that he backs away and tries not to think about how she shouldn’t be stupidly stooping in front of hot dudes in Hugo Boss) and grabs her right shoe. Sure enough, the heel is hanging off, swinging like an evil little pendulum.

“Oh, it’s broken. I – it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

She looks up to see a sheepish face, one hand threading into luscious locks. She rolls your eyes _(stop it, you look rude)_ and lean down again to pull off the other shoe as well.

“It’s okay. Now I’m just spared the chore of walking around in painful heels,” she jokes, waving the two shoes around _(like a stupid baboon)_. He lets out a chuckle and pulls the broken shoe out of her hand.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt,” he says, brandishing the shoe feebly.

 She nods, still attempting to seem more pulled together than she feels. “Thank you. For banging into me _and_ saving me.” She shoots him a smirk to make her joke clear, and is rewarded with a bigger smile that makes her stomach flutter.

“Oi, Harry, will you get here already?!”

“Are you okay? I saw you fall!”

Two different male voices call out, and both of them turn to look outside of the little fragile bubble of atmosphere that had somehow settled around them.

Before she knows it, Daniel is next to her, sorrowfully apologizing for leaving her alone, and Harry Styles has been swept away, one broken shoe in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sound good? Are you hooked?


	3. Online Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She scrolls through Twitter and Instagram absentmindedly, looking at photos of other actors who had been at the People’s Choice Awards as well, ignoring the errant cat pictures and – 
> 
> What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning of many tweets and texts. I've tried to make them easy to read. For example, a text will look like this: Name: Content of text.  
> And a tweet: @TwitterHandleOfCharacterWhoIsTweeting: Content of tweet.  
> If 'A' is tweeting at 'B': @A: @B you missed it! Ha! #inyoface
> 
> Cool? 
> 
> Impromptu lesson over. Moving on.

The next day, she’s bundled deep underneath her bed covers, sleeping soundly, when her phone dings obnoxiously near her head – and it’s loud enough to wake her up.

She shoots her phone a bit of a nasty look before checking the notifications balefully.

_Daniel Cell: There’s some pap website talking about Harry Styles and how he literally makes women fall for him. Guess why?_

Immediately, she is wide awake.

For the next half an hour, she lies in bed, curled up under blankets, enjoying the many, _many_ photos that have hit gossip websites about Harry Styles and her. Sure, she’s not given much importance, you can’t see her face in _any_ of the images, nobody cares much about who the ‘lucky woman’ is, and all the ‘articles’ mostly focus on making snide jokes about him, but the photographs? Some are actually pretty amazing.

She cringes, catching her train of thought, but the feeling subsides. After all, how many times does she get to see pictures of very hot singers wrapping their hands around her?

Guiltily, she saves a few, then logs on to Twitter.

_@WritingSloth: Sometimes, it’s a good thing that there are many people who dedicate their lives to being invasive little shits with cameras._

After tweeting, she rolls around and burrows back into her covers, feeling a smile tug at her lips.

*

By afternoon, she has a few favourites and a couple replies.

_@MNoise91: Looks like @WritingSloth enjoys paparazzi photos from award shows too. #SoManyGoodSuits_

_@WritingSloth: Oh, haha, @MNoise91, you have no idea. #shameless_

Sometimes, she likes that her followers have increased since she joined the ranks of writers for The Day Planner.

She scrolls through Twitter and Instagram absentmindedly, looking at photos of other actors who had been at the People’s Choice Awards as well, ignoring the errant cat pictures and –

_What?_

Shooting up, she sits stock still on her couch as her eyes feast on what seems to be a picture of her shoe.

Her black, broken shoe that she had last seen cradled in Harry Styles’ hand.

She half-doesn’t believe it, but there it is, on his Instagram, captioned: _Not a glass slipper._


	4. #HarrysCinderella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On one hand, the Cinderella reference is obvious, and if she thinks about it… well, the Prince liked Cinderella, didn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tweets may get confusing. I am so sorry.
> 
> My soul feeds on comments and concrit. Anybody in the mood to feed this hungry, pathetic little soul? ( ^_^ )

After spending a day deliberating, she decides not to tweet him.

On one hand, the Cinderella reference is obvious, and if she thinks about it… well, the Prince liked Cinderella, didn’t he? However, the idea of Harry Styles thinking about her romantically after _one_ thirty second meeting… her brain doesn’t need to, but it reminds her that the entire situation is surreal and he probably meant nothing by it.

Like some perverse sort of torture, though, she keeps tapping on her Instagram icon to look at the photo, because it’s garnered a bit of a… response.

_Cinderella reference! I knew I loved Hazza for a reason!_

_OMG, do u mean that girl u met at PCA????????????/_

_Want us to find your princess, Hazz?_

_I wanna be your Cinderella!_

_Pls, those r the most common heels evr, even I have a pair. Guess that makes me ur princess too._

_OMG SO CUUUUUTTE._

_NO, she’s not worth it, Harrryyyy!_

_Let’s find her for you. #HarrysCinderella_

_Oh no, that’s new._  She thinks, staring in shock at the last response. _Oh no no no._

With growing horror, she checks Twitter. Sure enough, the second (second?!) hashtag on the trending list is #HarrysCinderella.

Suddenly, her phone beeps and she sees a Twitter notification. With trepidation, she checks it… and sighs with relief.

“Don’t even know what I was expecting,” she mutters, hitting ‘reply’.

_@TheRealDan: @WritingSloth Want me to spill the beans?_

_@WritingSloth: @TheRealDan, you realize that if you piss me off, I can just make your character fall off a cliff, right?_

That sets off a bunch of fans, and she smiles in satisfaction at the familiar social media movement of the TDP fandom, feeling her body relax.

_@DayFANner99: I love how close @TheRealDan and @Writing Sloth are. Actors and writers usually aren’t close, right? #TDP_

She wrinkles her nose.

_@WritingSloth: Whoever said that, @DayFANner99? (Nice wordplay, btw.)_

Another fan chimes in.

_@lilly: I think you guys are cute. Didn’t you go to #PeoplesChoice with @TheRealDan, too, @WritingSloth? #FriendshipGoals #TDP_

The tweet includes a paparazzi picture of her and Daniel standing together the night before at the PCAs, grinning.

_@DayFANner99: Why was @WritingSloth barefoot? #PeoplesChoice_

_@TheRealDan: Good question, @DayFANner99. The Sloth’s not very good with heels. She broke them._

Oh, wait.

She sends a panicked text to him.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ASDFGHJKL._

_Daniel Cell: *eye roll* Chill. Nobody’s going to know._

And then,

_Daniel Cell: Why don’t you want anyone to know anyway?_

She groans in frustration.

_It’s embarrassing._

_Daniel Cell: He’s a good looking guy making fairy tale references about you. He’s your type._

_You don’t know the whole story._

_Daniel Cell: There’s a story?! Have you met before?_

_NO, not like that!_

_Daniel Cell: Tell me before I announce on Twitter that it was you._

_Ugh, you ass. I used to have a huge celebrity crush on him. When I was 18._

_Daniel Cell: YOU? Wow. So?_

_So it’s like I’m stalking him._

_Daniel Cell: Are you?_

_NO, good god._

_Daniel Cell: So?_

_You don’t get it._

He tweets her moments later.

_@TheRealDan: You’re so boring, @WritingSloth (you can’t kill me off, you’ll be lynched, HA)._

She ignores him and slides out of bed.

*

It takes a few hours, but someone sees the FANner’s tweets on the #PeoplesChoice hashtag, and her world sort of explodes – just as she and the other writers finish scripting an actual mini explosion for The Day Planner.

_@Hazza4LYF: Hey, @WritingSloth’s a writer for #TheDayPlanner. Heard she lost a shoe at #PeoplesChoice. #HarrysCinderella_

Twitter continues to explode, and she starts gaining followers.

Her colleagues spend the whole of lunch finding tweets and poking fun at her (‘look, a 1D fan thinks you staged it all’, ‘hey, a bunch of people think your shoe choices are lame’, ‘can we call you Cinderella now?’). She grins and bares it, reprimanding herself when she realizes that she’s hoping for a real reply – from a very specific person.

 _He never said anything about wanting to find me, the fans did that,_ she tells herself sternly. _Stop getting your hopes up, this stuff doesn’t happen to people._

By the time she gets home, she’s exhausted and for once, it’s not because of her job.

Her phone beeps and she unlocks it absentmindedly, expecting more insults from some rabid Styles fans, or supportive fairy tale-themed jokes from her own fandom.

Instead, she sees something else entirely.

**You have a new follower on Twitter!**

**Harry Styles.** @Harry_Styles

_Raconteur_

Following: 1,888 Followers: 23.2 M


	5. "Got curious."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...she’s happy to note that, after a week, the general furore about Harry’s Cinderella has died down.

“He meant nothing by it, but he had to follow me after everybody made a big deal out of it, he couldn’t ignore me, it would look rude.”

Katherine looks way more upset than she thought she’d look.

“But - but at least _talk_ to him!” She insists, one hand grasping her own.

“No, Kat,” she says firmly. “I don’t want him to think I’m some desperate little child who’s overthinking something.”

“But you won’t be. _He_ followed _you_ -”

“After his followers made a big deal of _one_ caption. He might have just meant it as a joke, or a slightly amusing little quip. And that’s all. The Internet just went batshit, as usual.”

Her friend glares at her resentfully, and folds her arms.

“Why are you ruining this for me?”

She laughs dryly, tipping her coffee mug to catch the last drops of the warm drink, before beginning to gather her laptop bag and purse.

“If you think _you’re_ disappointed by all this,” she says, standing up and swinging her hair behind her, “imagine how I feel.”

*

Later, she is sprawled on her ratty sofa, scrolling through TDP fanfiction on her phone (the fans, she’s realized, have been ‘turning’ Dan’s character gay to match his real life love – she’s massively amused by the number of stories that have cropped up featuring a ‘mystery man’ who looks remarkably like Dan’s fiancé, Tim), eating biscuits distractedly from a bowl perched carefully on her stomach.

Idly, she shuts the browser and tweets a link to the world, then starts looking through her Twitter feed. She’s got a considerable amount of followers now, but she’s happy to note that, after a week, the general furor about _Harry’s Cinderella_ has died down.

She freezes.

“Oh, come on,” she mutters softly, staring at the screen in disbelief.

@ _Harry_Styles: Deep in s1 of #TheDayPlanner. Anyone here a fan? Got curious_

Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s clicking to favourite his tweet, and typing out a reply.

_@WritingSloth: Stay tuned. It only gets better, @Harry_Styles._

She smirks, imagining irate fans accusing her of further evil things, like trying to sell the show she works for.

She almost misses the reply.

_@Harry_Styles: You have to say that  @WritingSloth. (why?)_

She grins.

_@WritingSloth: Well, I joined in s2. Writing got infinitely better._

Her phone buzzes immediately, and she checks her notifications quickly.

_@TheRealDan: Nah, it’s cause there are more shirtless dudes, @Harry_Styles_

_@MelvynActs: I agree with @TheRealDan, @Harry_Styles. And I’m the lead role, I should know._

She snorts and favourites both their tweets.

_@WritingSloth: As you can see, @Harry_Styles, we’re all very nice people._

_@Harry_Styles: I think so too @WritingSloth @MelvynActs @TheRealDan_

*  
By evening, the Internet explodes (once again), but this time around, it's nice. Fans of The Day Planner flock to the exchange and proclaim happily that it means their show will now be on the receiving end of much-deserved publicity… and they’re right.

Honestly, she’s considering it to be the better outcome of the entire shoe incident.


	6. Bad Food Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her life seems to currently be passing by in whirlwinds, punctuated by peaceful holidays – it’s a good system, and she's not complaining.

Hands on her hips, she teeters in front of a display of extremely large bags of crisps, attempting to talk herself out of the giant bags that _should_ be adorned with words like ‘UNHEALTHY’ and ‘EARLY DEATH’. Shaking her head, she grabs three bags of cheesy whatevers, a grim smile decorating her mouth.

 _There’s no point to life if you can’t eat what you like,_ she thinks happily, moving her shopping cart down the aisle of her neighbourhood grocery store.

It’s a Sunday (her life seems to currently be passing by in whirlwinds, punctuated by peaceful holidays – it’s a good system, she's not complaining), and she’d finally pushed herself to replenish her empty refrigerator.

 _With more junk than food,_ she thinks wryly, looking at the mess of crisps and instant noodles nestled in the cart, along with the prerequisites of adult nourishment (i.e. fruit, vegetables and bread). She smiles at passers-by, some fellow Sunday grocery shoppers like her, dressed in clothes barely out of the ‘pyjama’ category, and fancier shoppers in boots and leather jeans.

 _The perils of living in (relatively) cheap apartments are hobnobbing with riff-raff, and wannabe riff-raff,_ she thinks, suppressing a smirk as a man with a tweedy looking coat and goatee wanders past her, ostentatiously carrying a jute bag and a Walkman.

On her way home, she decides that she actually feels like prolonging this blissful walking around thing she’s doing, so she drops her groceries in her tiny kitchen before leaving her apartment again to wander.

_@WritingSloth: I wandered lonely as a cloud… no daffodils here, though. #Wordsworth #Sunday_

Almost immediately, her phone begins to ring, and she curses a little, then yanks her earphones off and checks the display.

_Incoming Call_

_Melvyn_

She rolls her eyes.

“Hello?”

“Since you’re not doing anything... I feel like some weird ice cream and washing it down with even weirder ice cream.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes again. This is typical of Melvyn – she rarely ever greets anybody on the phone, and spends most of her life focusing on food. (Being one of those magically horrible people with great metabolism, Mel looked like Malibu Barbie despite all the crappy food. Or Malibu Barbie with less creepy eyes and an Irish accent.)

“Hey stalker,” she says, turning towards her home in resignation. If Mel wants her out and about, her blissful walk is over. “Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t eat from that hellhole again?”  She grimaces, trying to block the memory of the really stupid food truck Mel had been obsessed with a while ago.

“I found a perfectly nice restaurant that serves the same thing, and it’s marginally healthier. And don’t _stalker_ me! Don’t tweet shit if you don’t want it seen.”

She sniggers. “Maybe I should just block you.”

“I have a secret account that follows you. You’ve threatened me like this so many times, I had to take action.”

Her friend sounds disgustingly unapologetic.

“Okay, okay. Where is this place? Please tell me it’s close by. And close for me, not you with the fancy car and-”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m on my way to pick you up.”

“…you planned this way before you saw my tweet.”

“Obviously. I just thought I’d have to drag you out of bed. It’s not fun – I used to prefer Tim for this stuff, but ever since Dan stole him from me-”

“He didn’t _steal_ him, they’re getting married-”

“-they just sit inside their cute apartment and play with their three dogs, and neither of them like me showing up in the morning for food adventures-”

“I wonder why,” she mutters, letting herself into her apartment again.

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you want to tell me where this place is? Because I’m wearing an old t-shirt and an older set of pants-”

“-that’s perfect.”

“That is _not_ perfect. The last time you said something I was wearing was perfect, paparazzi saw us and our photos were everywhere. Except you looked like an angel, and I looked homeless.”

“Ha, I remember that. And didn’t your mum-”

“Yes, she called me and asked me why I wasn’t buying real clothes to wear,” she grumbles, sinking into her couch.

“Look, I swear it’s perfect, but if you want to get dolled up, it’s fine by me. Now shut up and let me get off the phone, because I can’t drive and talk to you at the same time.”

“You’re driving?! Why did you let me-”

“Car phone. See ya.”

The line goes dead, and she shakes her head in silent exasperation.

_@WritingSloth: If you ever have the chance to be friends with an actor, think really hard before you do it. #Mel #Insane_

Just as she hoped, she soon gets a reply from Timothy Abrams, Daniel’s fiancé and chef.

_@TimmyTimTims: Sunday food adventures?_

_@WritingSloth: yep. #dying_

She closes her eyes and sinks further into her couch, idly wondering if she has time to take a nap...

Her phone buzzes.

_@MelvynActs: Sundays with lazy writers like @WritingSloth can be fun, right? #foodadventures #icecream_

This is followed by a text.

_Melvyn: Get down here, I’ve been waiting forever, and I’ve honked too._

Then,

_Melvyn: Do you realize it’s been thirty mins?_

And,

_Melvyn: Don’t make me come up there, because I will criticize your interior design and make fun of that shameful collection of rags you call ‘clothes’._

*

“So?”

She looks up from her steadily emptying cup of ice cream, and raises her eyebrows. “So?”

Mel rolls her eyes. “I don’t think he’s hooked on TDP just because of my pretty face.”

She sighs. “I should have known you wanted to-”

“Last night! One more tweet last night about how he totally thinks season two is better-”

“- it _is_ better-”

“- because of _your_ writing, of course, with that flirty wink-”

“-there was nothing flirty about it, he’s just enjoying the show.”

They glare at each other for a bit, before she relents.

“We’re being friendly, and yes, he’s into the show and tweets about it, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Melvyn raises her eyebrows coldly. “Both of my last relationships began like this, give me some credit – I know how guys flirt, and _that’s_ flirting.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m not going to notice flirting, okay? Just because I’m stupid with men _sometimes_ doesn’t mean I’m stupid _all_ the time.”

“Nobody’s doubting your IQ. I just think, as your older and wiser friend-”

“-you’re twenty six, two years do _not_ allow you to sound like you’re my old, leathery, alien advisor.”

They lapse into silence again, and eat their ice cream.

“Have you met him since?” Melvyn finally asks, with the air of someone reluctantly letting go of a topic she doesn’t want to leave alone.

“No,” she answers lightly. “Not since the PCAs.”

*

_@HarryStyles: if you haven’t yet, watch The Day Planner._

_@TheRealDan: Thanks for all the free publicity, @HarryStyles_

_@WritingSloth: the official term is fangirl/boy, I think, @TheRealDan. You’re on the dark side now, @HarryStyles. Next stop: Tumblr account._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part one, i.e. the beginning. Tomorrow you'll find an interlude (from a different point of view!) posted under the same category of stories, but plainly as 'Interlude I'. After a bit, I'll post Part Two: In Media Res (into the middle of things).
> 
> [Explanation: part one is the establishment of their friendship, part two is the establishment of more, and part three is the exploration of what 'more' means.]
> 
> Tell me what you think! I adore getting feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Leave your comments. :) (Find me on Tumblr: rosetintednerdglasses!)


End file.
